


Power

by MrsHamill



Series: Protect the Bat [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Foreshadowing, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-20
Updated: 2005-09-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowledge is power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drive-by bunny fling to Tem-ve. Unfortunately, the prevailing winds tossed it right back into my lap and made me stuck with it. I've thought since I wrote _Like a Rock_ that the story would have sequel(s) to it, I'm just surprised the first one went in this direction. And thanks to Tem-ve who was nice enough to beta the damn thing even though (or maybe because) it didn't stick on her.
> 
> There are very spoiler-y warnings at the bottom of the fic.

Knowledge is power.  
  
William G. Earle learned that maxim very early on in his life. If you wanted to ensure the outcome of some decision or other, you found out who would be making the decision and used pressure to make sure everything would go your way. Didn't matter what the pressure was, only that you had the ability. It was something Earle's father had taught him. He also taught Earle not to get caught, and reinforced that lesson by beating the shit out of his son whenever he was caught, 'influencing' or anything else.

Knowledge is power, and Earle made it his goal in life to have all the power he could get. With power, you could get money and influence, and that was all a man needed.

When he began working for Wayne Enterprises, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would control it. He was, by then, very, very good at what he did, so his movement up the ladder looked as natural as anything of that type would look. And if he developed a reputation as a man you didn't turn your back on, so much the better. 

Then that idiot Thomas Wayne got himself and his wife killed. Earle had just begun gathering data on his employer when said employer died, which made the intel useless. But by then, Earle was in a position to take the power seat on the board and run Wayne Enterprises in everything but name. The boy was too young to understand what was going on and the butler too busy coddling the pup to be a real threat. Earle had briefly thought to ingratiate himself with the younger Wayne but ultimately decided against it -- a miscalculation when he discovered the pup had left his personal fortune to that idiot butler.

No, the only real threat to William G. Earle came from an unexpected source -- Lucius Fox. Earle had made the mistake of ignoring the uppity little nigger and that had nearly been his downfall. He hadn't realized how far into the stable the elder Wayne had taken Fox, nor had he realized just how smart the asshole was. He backpedaled and turned his interest on Fox while projecting a front that he suspected Fox saw through. It took some time -- Fox was better at privacy than normal -- but eventually he found the man's Achilles heel. And more: it seemed that Lucius Fox and Alfred Pennyworth were actually carrying on a clandestine affair. So Fox wasn't just a run-of-the-mill nigger, he was a faggot as well. Even better than he'd hoped.

As for Alfred Pennyworth, well, Earle had plenty on him, just in case he ever became a threat. Not that Earle expected him to.

Over the years, Earle carefully began shunting Fox aside, feeding him his favorite sop of research and development. Fox seemed to secrete inventions like a snail secretes slime, and Earle made sure all patents reverted to Wayne Enterprises. Finally, he had Fox where he wanted him, out of the way, nominally in charge of something completely ineffectual -- the Applied Sciences Division. A dead end. Perfect.

When the boy disappeared, Earle made sure to make a note of the date. Seven years and one day later, he sorrowfully announced that the only known heir to Wayne Enterprises must be dead. The declaration was pushed through by a judge who had a taste for very young ladies and just like that, Earle had Wayne Enterprises all to himself.

Until the day that damned boy had returned.

* * *

It took more than a year for Wayne Manor to be rebuilt. There was a lot of shoring needed in that southeast corner and Alfred finally decided on employing under-the-table workers, mostly of questionable immigrant status. He knew Bruce would have preferred using local labor but local men might have remembered things and talked about what they had seen. Men who didn't understand English well probably wouldn't be able to talk about what they'd seen, nor would they want to admit they had been working. Whatever the rich white man wanted they'd supply, with no questions asked.

And if it ensured the men food and shelter for themselves and their families, well, that was just a good side-benefit.

Lucius kept him informed of what was happening in the boardroom while Alfred oversaw the reconstruction. They had spoken over a bottle of very old brandy a few nights after Alfred had discovered the Ducard monster was still alive. Lucius had his contacts looking, as did Alfred. They had included Miss Rachel in the intelligence and she, in turn, notified young Lieutenant Gordon. It was a broad net they cast in order to, as Lucius so fancifully put it, 'Protect the Bat.' Alfred lived in hope that they would find Ducard (or whoever he was) before he found Bruce.

It had been a very old bottle of brandy though not quite as old as they were. There had been a time when their interaction would have been passionate, but that was long in the past. Now they were like a pair of old shoes, worn in places but still serviceable and so very comfortable. Lucius had taken glee in how he'd pulled the rug out from under the pompous bliffy Earle, and Alfred had to smile at Lucius' self-satisfied smirk. 

"I wish you could have seen his face," Lucius had said. "He's usually so controlled and bland -- not this time. The absolute fury in his eyes should have lit that cross on my lawn by will alone."

"I do hope you didn't trust him to take anything out of the offices," Alfred had said with one eyebrow raised.

"I may be old but I'm not a fool," Lucius had replied with a snort. "I had two guards frog-walk him to the box of personal possessions I had all ready for him." He'd taken a sip then and his humor had drained away. "I burned or deleted the files he had on other people. It was incredible... the blackmail potential alone... And I'm sure I missed things. If only I could have gone through his house."

"I don't think that would have been agreeable to him," Alfred remembered saying and hearing Lucius chuckle. 

The whole situation had been humorous until a few weeks later when Alfred opened the new, beautifully carved front door of Wayne Manor to find Earle standing in front of him, smiling like a crocodile.

* * *

Earle wasn't without resources, even without the might and money of Wayne Enterprises behind him. And he had always been careful to make multiple copies of all the data he held on other people, though he had never thought more than one copy would have been necessary. Not, that is, until that damn nigger had taken his job with a smirk that Earle would have loved to wipe off.

Fine, then. They wanted to play, he would show them how a master did it. Earle was always thinking, was always observing, and he was at the damned son's birthday party. He knew Wayne wasn't as drunk as he tried to make people believe, and he knew what happened after had something to do with the man Wayne had been speaking to. Ra's al Ghul, that's what Mrs. Updyke had said, though the Asian man she referred to was an obvious decoy. Wayne considered the name a threat, but the threat was from the tall, distinguished, soft-spoken man with the cane. And information on _that_ man had been hard to come by.

But come by it, he eventually did. As it turned out, the man, Ducard (or maybe Ra's al Ghul, it was difficult to tell), was behind the theft of the microwave emitter and may have also been behind the near-destruction of Gotham. What a masterful stroke that had been -- Earle had been impressed and that emotion did not come easy to him. 

It took some doing but Earle had finally managed to confirm that Ducard was still alive, having somehow managed to live through both the monorail crash and that idiot, vigilante do-gooder who called himself the Bat Man. Earle approached Ducard diffidently, aware but not pleased that he was, for once, out-classed and out-gunned. He offered some of his substantial information on various Gotham officials as quid pro quo for help in taking that which was most precious to Wayne: his butler, Alfred.

Because, upon reflection, he realized the butler was the linchpin. Taking and destroying Alfred Pennyworth would not only hurt the Wayne brat, it would hurt Lucius Fox -- two flies with one swatter. And Earle desperately wanted to hurt Fox.

He was disappointed when Ducard turned him down -- or rather, when a flunky was dispatched to give Earle the bad news. It wasn't a crippling blow but it bruised his ego and he resolved to continue amassing as much information about Ducard as he could. Perhaps some day he would be able to show the man how it was actually done. Grand plans involving massive amounts of technology were one thing, singling out one major player was another. 

Earle planned carefully. He wanted no witnesses to his abduction, and knew that, despite his age, Pennyworth was unlikely to fold easily. So he took the easy way out. Careful observation found Pennyworth alone in the mostly rebuilt mansion on an afternoon, awaiting interior decorators who would be late to their appointment due to a flat tire. When Pennyworth opened the door, Earle gave him one moment to recognize the threat before spraying him with mace and knocking him out. 

He was gone without a trace in an instant never recorded.

* * *

Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox were at a luncheon honoring Hizzonor the Mayor of Gotham and neither one of them were having a good time, despite the lavish spread of food. The luncheon had been required of them as leaders of the largest corporation in Gotham, one that had been instrumental in helping to rebuild Gotham after the nightmare in the Narrows. To amuse and distract themselves (and to stay awake), they were playing a game of chess in their heads. Fox had suggested it, Bruce had agreed without thinking and was paying the price.

It was far more difficult than he'd expected to keep a chessboard in his head. He suspected Fox might have him pinned shortly and he was running out of options. (Though pulling the fire alarm and getting lost in the crowd had some appeal.)

Yet another elected, self-important blowhard was droning on to polite applause when Bruce leaned over and whispered, "Queen's bishop to... uh... king's bishop's four. Five. Five."

"Mr. Wayne, even if I hadn't taken that bishop five moves ago," Fox replied, sotto voce, "you wouldn't be able to make that move."

"Damn." He felt the vibration of his cell phone and grabbed it as a lifeline. "Call. It would have to be important for them to interrupt such..." There was another light spattering of tepid applause and Bruce rolled his eyes. "I'll be right back."

Gently extricating himself from the table and his seatmates, Bruce stepped into the alcove and opened his cell phone. The number displayed was not one he recognized and he frowned. "Wayne."

"Look to your home, Mr. Wayne," said a tinny, mechanical voice, then the line went dead.

Bruce frowned down at the phone. Look to his home? He used the speed dial to call his secretary, Dagmar. "Did you just call?" he asked when she answered.

"No, Mr. Wayne, why?"

"I just got a very strange call. There's nothing going on?"

"No, nothing to get you out of your luncheon, I'm afraid." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Rats. Oh, well, it was worth a shot." He closed the phone and turned back towards the room, but the strange call triggered his intensely suspicious nature. _Look to your home._ Turning back away from the room, he opened his cell again and hit speed dial. After six rings, he got voicemail and that wasn't right. 

He called Dagmar again. "It's me again. Have you heard from Alfred?"

"No, sir, should I have?"

"No... I... Try to reach him for me, would you, please? He should be at the manor but he might be in transit."

"No, sir, he should be at the manor. He's meeting with the decorators... right about now I think. Did you try him on his cell?"

"Yes. No answer." 

"That's odd." 

The Bat agreed with her. It was odd, and in light of the strange call... "Keep trying to get him, please. I'm going to head out to the manor. I'll let Mr. Fox--"

"Mr. Fox is coming with you." Bruce whipped around at the softly spoken words. "What's going on?"

"I got a strange call and can't reach Alfred." Beyond Fox, Bruce could see that the last speaker had finally droned himself out of words and the luncheon was beginning to break up. "He's supposed to be at the manor. Dagmar? I'm heading out to the manor with Mr. Fox. Please check with his secretary and let her know." Bruce closed the phone over her agreement. "I got a strange call from a robotic voice telling me to look to my home. Alfred is supposed to be meeting with the decorators about now, according to Dagmar, but isn't answering his cell."

"We're wasting time. I've already called for our driver." Fox took Bruce by the elbow and gently steered them to the exit.

* * *

Alfred woke slowly, aware of an aching coldness, stinging eyes and a throbbing head. He tried to lift his arms to rub at his eyes when he discovered he was securely tied to something hard, face down. He was also naked and from what little he could see in the dark, wherever he was felt like a dank basement with a concrete floor.

It took a few moments to shake the cobwebs out of his mind, but suddenly he recalled -- the knock, Earle, and pain. He couldn't believe the self-important twit Earle could have gone so far as to kidnap him, but available data seemed to prove it was so. Why would Earle want him? Was this about ransom? If so, it was a damned strange way to get it.

Alfred was left alone for quite some time to contemplate that question. He had no idea how long he'd been out (though he suspected it wasn't long) and the darkness and silence made it difficult to judge time passed. A thump and a bright, harsh light finally alerted him he wasn't alone.

He didn't have a lot of hair, but Earle didn't allow that to stop him from gathering what he had and yanking Alfred's head back. "Ah, good. You're awake. Saves me the water."

There was someone else in the room with Earle, but Alfred couldn't see who. "Earle." His voice came out raspy and he coughed slightly before speaking again. "What on Earth would you want with me?"

"Oh, it's nothing personal, Mr. Pennyworth. You are merely a means to an end." Earle did something outside of Alfred's sight and suddenly, Alfred was lifted up, though not vertical. He was tied, using some sort of leather bindings to a rack of some kind, though he wasn't spread-eagled. 

"If you're hoping for ransom--"

"Oh, no. No, no. Of course not." The other presence in the room came into Alfred's view; it was a man, a huge man who was naked to the waist and had the unpleasant air of someone who liked to hurt things. "I don't need money, Mr. Pennyworth. My parachute was very golden." He leaned down until he was looking Alfred in the eye. "No, as I said, you're merely the means to an end. Hurting you hurts others that I very much want hurt." Earle was speaking with the mildest of voices but the malice which glittered in his eyes gave Alfred pause. "Tell me, Mr. Pennyworth, which is worse: miscegenation or faggot love?"

Though he was fairly certain he didn't show it, Alfred felt an ice cold shiver go down his spine. There was no answer to give so he remained silent.

"No opinions? Well, I would have assumed otherwise; after all, you've indulged in both." Earle smiled. "It would have been the icing on the cake if you had been a kike too."

Earle's words had no meaning. Alfred tried to figure out what was happening and kept coming up blank. Why would Earle have taken him? What was he doing? What the hell was he planning and why? Alfred had no meaning to Earle! Could Earle be working for Ducard? Who the devil did the man think he was? "Who are you, Earle? Why are you doing this?"

Earle stood straight and walked away from Alfred. As always, he was impeccably dressed and his double-breasted suit and four-in-hand looked absurd in the dungeon-like setting.  He turned, put his hands behind his back and regarded Alfred curiously. "Who am I? Why, I'm my father's son, of course. Earle isn't even my real name, though it's the one that appears on my birth certificate. My _American_ birth certificate. On my German birth certificate, I'm named Wilhelm Gunter Ehrlich."

"Oh dear God. Let me guess, your father was a Nazi." Though he kept his tone light, Alfred felt his guts clench. "The oldest cliché in the book. A sergeant in the home guard, I presume?"

Earle went very still for a long moment. "My father was a Colonel in the SS," he finally said, in a  quiet, deadly voice. "He was a great man who was far more intelligent than his superiors. By the time the Reich fell, he was already in the States with his family. Your family, I'm certain, was living in a sewer in the remains of London by then."

Alfred was getting colder by the moment, a cold that stretched from his skin right into his bowels. It was all well and good to laugh at clichés when dressed and in a warm room with friends, it was quite another to do so while tied up, naked, in a madman's basement. 

Earle walked back to him, hitched up his trousers carefully and crouched so he could see Alfred's face. "And as to why I'm doing this, well..." he smiled again. "Because I can."

* * *

The limo driver broke several laws getting them up to the manor, but it was all too late. There was no one there, and the door was unlocked. 

"Don't touch anything," Bruce muttered to Fox. "Just in case." He pulled his cell back out and called his office again. "Dagmar, please find the number of the decorators who were supposed to meet Alfred today and call them. I need to speak with them immediately."

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Is everything all right?"

"No, it's not. Alfred is missing." He heard her sharp intake of breath. "I'm going to be calling the police as soon as I hang up. The phones here are working, call me on the main number when you have their number." He closed the connection and hit another speed dial number. "I need to speak with Lieutenant Gordon, please. It's an emergency."

Fox had been wandering around the foyer and out the front door, his eyes on the ground, walking carefully as Bruce made his calls. Occasionally, he would crouch to examine something. Bruce didn't pay any heed; it was all he could do to keep the Bat leashed inside of him. The urge to track and kill was very strong.

"Lieutenant Gordon? Bruce Wayne here. I am in need of your help, sir."

If Lieutenant Gordon found it strange that Gotham's leading citizen would call him directly, he didn't say so. He took the facts of the matter and promised he'd be at the manor as soon as possible, along with a forensics team. "Whoever took Mr. Pennyworth may still be in the vicinity, Mr. Wayne," he concluded. "They may be after you as well. To stay safe, you--"

"I am safe, Lieutenant," Bruce interrupted him. "I have... resources at my command. Please, just hurry."

There was a faint sigh on the other end. "The forensics team have already been dispatched. They should be there within ten minutes, and I'll be there soon after."

"Thank you." Bruce closed his phone and stood, rooted to the spot in the beautiful marble foyer of his partially restored home. His free hand formed into a fist and he closed his eyes, using the meditation techniques he'd learned in Bhutan to calm himself. Problem was, it wasn't working.

A touch on his arm nearly made him jump. "Mr. Wayne, whoever did this was very good. There's virtually no evidence to be found."

"Lieutenant Gordon has sent a forensics team out here to sweep the area," Bruce said. His voice was very tight, reflecting his inner turmoil. "But I have a feeling I know who did it."

"The same person who alerted you?" Fox asked. "You think it's--"

"Ducard. Yes. I do." Bruce carefully replaced his cell phone before his hand could crush it. 

"Was there a number associated with the call? Was it the same as the one I'd gotten for you?"

"Yes. And no."

"Have you re-called it yet?" 

"No, not yet."

"You should, before the police get here," Fox told him. "Because if it is a number for Ducard, you don't want the police getting in our way."

Bruce took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax. Before he'd gotten his phone open, though, Fox's words sunk in. "Our way?"

It was the first time Bruce had actually looked into Fox's face and he was shocked by the leashed fury and panic he saw there. Lucius Fox was very nearly trembling with rage and Bruce realized his own anger almost paled in comparison. 

"Our way." Off in the distance, Bruce heard sirens. "You aren't the only one who loves him."

Having someone share his agony made Bruce feel marginally better, though he didn't understand why. He nodded once and opened his phone again.

* * *

Earle, of course, wouldn't touch him. Instead, he had the huge man, a Nordic blond giant of a man who looked like a wrestler, carefully work Alfred over, making sure to not damage anything sufficiently to kill. So, beginning with his feet, the man whaled away at Alfred, using various instruments from a heavy bamboo cane to a single-tail to fists. Every time he passed out from the pain, Alfred would be doused with icy water to wake him again. He was pretty sure a couple of ribs were cracked and his nose might have been broken too. 

The good part was that he'd all but lost his voice so couldn't scream any more.

Alfred endured. It was what he did, from the time he was a child on the mean London streets until he was trained as a fusilier, from then until he came to America to work for a man who had saved his life, completely by chance. Alfred all but worshiped the ground Thomas Wayne walked on, and could think of nothing better in life than to have the chance to serve him, him and all the Waynes, but especially Bruce. A son who was as much Alfred's as he was Thomas'. 

Bruce would find him. That was Alfred's mantra, something he chanted in his mind in-between inflicted agonies. Bruce would find him, Lucius would find him, he would be rescued. If not Bruce, then the horrible Bat, the monster that remained leashed inside Bruce.

He must have managed to breathe that aloud during his tormentor's break, because Earle walked back to him and crouched, smiling up into Alfred's bloody face. "You think you'll be found? That your precious scion or faggot nigger will find you? They will, I guarantee it. They'll find you after I dump your mangled body." Earle chuckled. "They don't even know you're gone, Alfred. It's not even dinner time and I'm sure Bruce won't notice you're missing until long after his work day is done."

If it had been within his nature, Alfred would have despaired. But he'd learned long before to never underestimate Bruce, and Earle had already demonstrated he'd never truly understood the Wayne men. They'd never failed Alfred and never would.

Then the big man returned. From his position, Alfred couldn't see his whole body, but he didn't need to. The man was naked and very erect with a phallus larger than any Alfred had ever seen.

"Wilf here, he likes to hurt people; it makes him very useful at times," Earle said, remaining where he was. "And it gets him excited, as you can see. While he isn't queer, he's simple enough to use any hole available. I'm sure yours will be plenty big enough to service his needs."

Alfred tried to swallow but there wasn't enough spit in his mouth to succeed. Then Wilf walked behind him and the frame Alfred was tied to was bent, putting horrible pressure on his ribs and bruised abdomen. But the real pain started just after that.

* * *

Bruce and Fox sat on the marble stairway leading to the second floor of the manor and waited. The forensics team sent by Lieutenant Gordon was extremely thorough, but as Fox had said, there was no evidence of anything. Gordon himself backed them up, asking questions and making sure every base was covered.

The interior decorators had been contacted and they confirmed they had arrived -- about an hour late -- for a meeting to find the house empty. Their vehicle, including the blown tire, was examined and it was determined that it was a sabotage. That piece of information did not surprise either Bruce or Fox. 

The call which had alerted Bruce came from an out-of-order phone booth in the lower Narrows. Phone logs were pulled and gone through but there was nothing to find.

Finally, late in the afternoon, Gordon released the forensics team and approached Bruce and Fox, who stood to meet him. "I'm out of options, gentlemen," Gordon said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wish I could say more. Hell, I wish I could _do_ more, but I can't."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Bruce was very tightly reining himself in, but with every dead-end, his suspicions grew.

"Ms. Dawes has alerted me to this Ducard character, and we've got an APB out for both him and Mr. Pennyworth." He looked between Bruce and Fox, his expression all frustration. "It might be nothing more than an abduction for ransom, Mr. Wayne. You have to understand that, you're a wealthy man and a large target."

"If this was about ransom, I would be leaping for joy, Lieutenant, and more than willing to pay it. But I think we would have heard by now if that were the case." It was only with effort that Bruce managed to keep himself from snarling. 

Gordon sighed. "You're probably right. I wish I could be more help." He pulled a battered card from his wallet. "This has my cell and home numbers. I'll be sure to keep you in the loop on anything we find."

Fox took the card. "Thank you, Lieutenant. We appreciate your help."

Nodding shortly, Gordon turned and left the manor.

The two men stood still in the ornate, white marble foyer of Wayne manor. They didn't look at each other, didn't speak, but both knew what the other was thinking. Finally, Bruce took a deep breath and released it. "I'm calling him."

"Mr. Wayne, we don't even know if that number--"

"I'm calling it. It's all I have left. Ducard wouldn't just do this for no reason. He wants Gotham. He wants me."

"Either? Or both?" Fox walked to him, stood in his personal space, took his shoulders and shook them gently. "Ducard is a monster. He doesn't 'want' Gotham, he wants to destroy it. What makes you think he'd accept you instead?"

"Nothing." Bruce swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe normally. He couldn't meet Fox's eyes. "But it's all I've got left."

"Then I'm staying here with you." Fox's voice was as hard as broken glass. "You need backup, regardless _who_ walks out that door, you or... the other."

Bruce kept his mouth in a thin line to keep from trembling but he nodded, once, a jerk of his head which must have satisfied Fox. Pulling out his cell phone again, he dialed a number he had memorized the moment it had been read to him by someone who would not give his name and would not say more. Someone who had responded to Bruce's queries on how to reach Ducard. And Fox was right, they had no idea if it truly was Ducard's number, but it was his last resort.

The call was answered on the second ring. "Hello, Bruce."

Dammit, there wasn't even a change in the bastard's voice. "Where is he, Ducard?"

There was dead silence on the line for several moments, something which made Bruce feel more out of control. Finally, Ducard said, "Where's who, Bruce?"

"God damn you, you know who I mean. You even warned me. Why did you take him? For ransom? Or something else?"

Once again there was silence on the line, before Ducard spoke. "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment again, Bruce. I did not warn you of anything and do not know what you're referencing. Nor will I until you tell me."

The very calm, urbane voice of Ducard made Bruce want to take the man apart, piece by piece. "Alfred is gone. There is only one man who--"

"Ah, Alfred, your man of all work." Ducard chuckled and Bruce had to fight to keep from throwing the phone against the wall. "From your reaction, I would think you're a little too tied to him. Compassion is a weakness; I don't know how many times I've tried to hammer that lesson in you." Before Bruce could say more, Ducard continued. "I did not take him, if that is what you're accusing me of doing."

Bruce froze. The fire in his veins turned immediately to ice. "You warned me... you have to have..."

"Threats can often come from unexpected sources. A wise man keeps all his enemies in sight at all times. An even wiser man knows _who_ his enemies are." Bruce could hear Ducard smile. "Do you know all your enemies, Bruce?"

"No... don't do this Ducard... I know you..."

"Again, I assure you I had nothing to do with it." 

Bruce dropped his head and closed his eyes. Ducard he could fight, Ducard was an enemy he knew, understood. Putting an unknown into the mix turned him inside-out. Could it be someone who knew about the Bat? Someone who had some other motive? If it wasn't Ducard, then who warned him? Would others -- would Rachel -- become a target?

"As it happens, however, I may have information on the person who has abducted Mr. Pennyworth. I was approached some time back with an offer to make a trade for my help in taking something of worth from you." Ducard's voice was musing. "I said no, of course, because when you return to me it will not be because of any crude coercion like blackmail. It will be because you've finally come to your senses."

It took a few moments for Bruce to find his voice. "You owe me. I saved your life."

"But my life would not have been in danger had you not destroyed my home."

"As you did to my home. On that score, we're even. And your home would not have been destroyed had you let me walk away free."

"That was not an option, I'm afraid."

Suddenly exhausted, Bruce slumped. Cat and mouse games were beyond him. "What do you want for the information you have?"

"You know what I want, Bruce."

"No. I will not give you Gotham. I told you to give me more time, the city is coming along, I know--"

"Gotham is a sewer and needs to be cleansed before it bursts into flames. There is nothing you can do to save Gotham, Bruce, not as yourself, not even as your theatrical alter ego."

"You're wrong." Bruce had to believe that, it was something he went to bed believing and woke up believing because to believe otherwise was to give in to despair.

"Are you willing to wager Mr. Pennyworth's life against that belief?"

His heart in his mouth, Bruce lifted his head and found himself looking directly into Lucius Fox's eyes. They told him all he needed to know, but it still took an act of will to say the words. "Yes," he whispered. Alfred would want it that way. "Yes, I am."

Ducard tutted gently. "Sanctimonious self-flagellation will get you nowhere, Bruce. What do you have to offer me?"

Bruce was still looking at Fox and could see the anguish, the anger, the fear written large on his face. Alfred was more to him, more to them both, than just a friend. Without Alfred, Bruce was nothing, not even the Bat would remain -- or perhaps, that's all that would remain. Alfred kept him human and sane and... 

"Myself," Bruce said, in a voice hardly loud enough to carry.

There was another long silence. "I am not quite ready to receive such a sacrifice," Ducard said quietly. "However, I will let you know who approached me. His name is William G. Earle, though I have reason to believe that is not his only name."

Bruce's face twisted up. "Earle?" As soon as he spoke, Fox's eyes widened and he turned away, almost visibly radiating fury. His hands were fists at his sides.

"As I said earlier, Bruce, it's a wise man who knows all his enemies. I wish you good fortune in your hunting. Rest assured, I will be contacting you soon." The line went dead.

Bruce's brain was frozen like the blood in his veins. _Earle_ had taken Alfred? Why? Yes, he had been fired from Wayne Enterprises, and Bruce thought he might have felt humiliated... "My God."

Fox was muttering something over and over and it took Bruce a few moments to parse the words. "I should have guessed, should have known, I should have guessed..." Abruptly, Fox walked to the stair rail, picked up the gaudy, empty urn which sat upon it and threw it at the floor, roaring incoherently. The urn shattered into a million pieces and Fox slumped, one arm on the rail the only thing supporting him.

The sound galvanized Bruce. He hit speed-dial again, noting the time. With luck... "Dagmar. It's me again."

"Sir? Did you find--"

"No. I need a vehicle, something like ten minutes ago."

"I'm afraid the Lamborghini is in the shop, sir, and--"

"No, no, I need something bigger. An SUV, a big one. Doesn't Cadillac make them?"

"Yes... I -- I think we've got one like that in the fleet--"

"Good. Find it. Have it ready in my usual parking spot; Mr. Fox and I will pick it up shortly." Bruce looked over at Fox, who was still slumped. "And I need every address you have for Mr. Earle. Addresses and driving directions -- have them in the car when we pick it up."

It was a first. Bruce had actually flustered Dagmar and under different circumstances, he would have been greatly amused to find his unflappable aide completely thrown. "I'll... I'll call Jessica, she should have kept all that--"

"Excellent. We're on our way, Dagmar. Don't disappoint me." Without waiting for a reply, he snapped the phone closed. "I promised him I'd protect him," he muttered. With one more deep breath, Bruce let go of himself and became the Bat in all but costume. He reached out and grabbed Fox by the upper arm. "We have to move. Now."

* * *

Alfred was very wet. He couldn't tell if the moisture was from cold water dousing him or from blood -- his skin was too damaged, too cold to tell the difference. He amazed himself by being able to scream when his torturer violated him; the pain was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. 

Earle had finally cut him free of the frame and left him where he'd fallen on the cold, wet, concrete floor. His wrists and ankles were scored and bloody from his bindings, and he was completely incapable of moving even an inch. He could only breathe shallowly and knew, by the fact that he could not feel his fingers (many of them broken) or toes (same there) that he was hypothermic and close to death. 

His only thought was sadness. He would have liked to have seen Lucius, or Bruce, one last time.

Footsteps on the floor near him made him drag open one eye -- the other was crusted shut with blood and bruising. Expensive Italian shoes came into his view, getting wet with his blood, his urine -- probably never come out. The shoes would have to be trashed, such a waste.

"You're still with us then, Alfred? I'm so pleased. I thought you'd be able to take a lot, and you didn't disappoint me." Earle's voice was still light, still mocking and Alfred would have very much liked to punch the supercilious bastard right in the nose. If only he could move his arms...

"You're bleeding quite severely, and I'm reasonably certain you've got some internal injuries too. Left alone, you'd undoubtedly die within in the hour. That pleases me, Alfred, so very much."

Bruce would come, Alfred knew. It hurt his heart to know Bruce, dearer than son, would find his body so very damaged. He hoped it wouldn't tip Bruce over into madness -- the nightmare creature who lived in Bruce's brain was something he feared far more than dying.

"Once you've bled out, Wilf will carry your remains to a small box we've prepared. He'll tuck you nice and securely into it and then it will be sealed and sent to Mr. Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. It should be there by tomorrow, after having given him a night to worry about you." Earle smiled. "I only wish I could be there when he opens the box."

Earle's voice was fading in and out and Alfred knew he didn't have much time left. As the world grayed out for what he thought might be the last time, he heard some commotion -- shouting, perhaps -- but his eye closed as consciousness fled.

* * *

Bruce put the limo driver in the back and Fox next to him as he sped to Wayne Tower. Fox didn't speak one word as Bruce pushed the limo far more than its designers had ever anticipated. Driving the Tumbler had made him quite an expert at racing through traffic with minimal distraction. They made it to the parking garage in record time to find a Cadillac Escalade sitting astride three places in the executive parking lot. The keys were in it and Dagmar was standing next to it, several small sheets of paper in her hands.

Throwing the limo into park and leaping out of it, Bruce strode up to his aide. Her eyes were big as saucers and she nervously swallowed. "Jessica said Mr. Earle had three residences he regularly used, but only one... only one is really isolated." She swallowed again as Bruce grabbed the papers she held. "He did something, didn't he? To... to Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Yes." Bruce wasn't in the mood for further explanation.

"I knew it. I hated that lying snake bast..." Dagmar cut herself off. "Go to the house out in Meadows. Here... take I-seven--"

"I know how to get there." Fox came up and Bruce acknowledged him with a nod. "Thank you, Dagmar. You can go home now." Bruce climbed into the SUV and noted the full tank with approval.

"I hope he's okay," Dagmar said as he slammed the door. Bruce made a mental note to call her once everything was done.

Fox was still buckling in but Bruce didn't waste any time. He peeled out of the garage and out into the late rush-hour traffic, once again moving far faster than prevailing traffic.

"Should we call Gordon?" Fox asked. His voice sounded inflectionless. "Or an ambulance?"

"Wait until we get there," Bruce replied, concentrating on his driving. "We're not sure that's where he is."

Fox nodded and lapsed back into silence. 

Operating as the Bat made everything much easier for Bruce. He could go into battle mode, analyzing their position and the fastest way to get where they needed to go. He had given brief thought to taking the Tumbler but it would have been impracticable, not to mention too revealing. 

All the way to Earle's 'country home,' Bruce tried to reason out why Earle would have taken Alfred. Unfortunately, all he could come up with was Earle wanted to hurt Bruce and Fox and that wasn't acceptable, for it meant that Earle would have no problems killing Alfred. The Bat saw red every time that idea flashed through his mind and pressed the accelerator that much more.

It was near dark when they made it to Earle's house, a sprawling affair at the end of a long, private drive. There was a gate but Bruce smashed through it; the Escalade barely paused and Bruce was distantly impressed. The house was lit by floodlights and there were interior lights on, so someone was home. As the car screamed to a stop just outside the front door, Bruce said, "Call Gordon. Get an ambulance. Even if Alfred isn't here, whoever is will need it soon."

Not waiting to ensure that Fox did as asked, Bruce got out of the car and jogged to the front door, kicking it down with barely a pause. 

There was a man inside, a huge, blond man wearing only a pair of blood-stained sweat pants. He turned and came at Bruce with a roar but Bruce never hesitated. The man was certainly big but Bruce had fought bigger and the man was a convenient outlet for his rage over Alfred's disappearance. He kicked him in the balls and, using his own body weight against him, shoved him face-first into the wall. It didn't knock the man out, but stunned him enough that Bruce was able to get his arm back in a lock, wrenching his thumb.

"Where is he?" Bruce demanded, twisting the thumb back even further.

The man gasped and tried to wriggle out of Bruce's hold on him. Bruce drove his elbow into one of the man's kidneys and nearly pulled the man's thumb out of its socket. "I said, where is he?"

"What the hell...?"

Bruce was distracted briefly by the words and the man he was fighting took the opportunity to drop out of Bruce's hold. He twisted and tried to grab Bruce but came up empty; Bruce was already behind him, kicking out one of his knees and slamming both hands down on the man's neck. It was a short fight but vicious and Bruce won by breaking the man's nose with one elbow and wrenching his head around enough to almost break his neck. Then he stood and faced Earle, who was watching with shocked and amused surprise. 

"It's you. It's you! I should have known, the expensive toys, the vigilantism; no one else could be so self-righteously ridiculous as to dress up like--"

Earle's speech was cut short by Bruce's fist slamming into his jaw and elbow into his midriff. Bruce left him wheezing on the floor and tore through the house, instinctively heading for the back, for the basement, not bothering to call Alfred's name but grabbing an afghan throw on the way, some part of him telling him he'd need it.

He found Alfred on the floor in a back room of the house's basement, lying naked in a pool of his own blood, vomit, urine, feces and water. For a heart-stopping moment, Bruce thought he was dead. Then he saw the faint rise and fall of Alfred's chest as he breathed, raggedly.

Bruce tenderly wrapped Alfred in the throw and carefully picked him up, cradling him like a child. "You'll be fine, Alfred," he murmured as he made his way back to the steps and up, to the sirens he could already hear approaching. "Don't give up on me now, not when we've come so far."

* * *

It was so late it was early and the hospital was as still as a hospital could get. Lucius had to smile when he walked into Alfred's room because Bruce was sitting right where he'd left him, hours ago, after Alfred had come out of surgery. Bruce started when he heard the door open and twisted in his seat, looking up at Lucius with bleary eyes.

Lucius put his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Time to go home, son," he said gently. "I'll stay with him. You're no good to anyone exhausted."

"I wanted..." 

"I know. He won't be alone when he wakes." Lucius smiled at Bruce, reassuringly. "Go home, Mr. Wayne. You need a shower and some sleep and you've got an empire to run in the morning."

Smiling sheepishly, Bruce rose and carefully stretched. Lucius heard joints pop and winced in sympathetic pain. "Oh all right," Bruce sighed. He gathered his jacket and shuffled out of the way so Lucius could take the chair. "Mr. Fox," he said, frowning, "why do you still call me Mr. Wayne?"

Lucius settled in the chair and stretched his legs out, not taking his eyes off Alfred. "I don't know, Bruce; why do I?"

Behind him, Bruce snorted a chuckle then sighed again. "Thanks. From both of us."

"Never a problem."

The monitors on Alfred showed his steady improvement, though the left side of his face still looked a bit like raw hamburger. Lucius knew most of his body showed the same damage and it still made his insides boil at the thought of that monster hurting his gentle, loving Alfred.

"Is he gone?" Alfred's voice sounded like he'd swallowed a cheese grater.

"Yes, he's gone." Lucius sat up and took Alfred's hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Depends." Alfred tried to lick his lips which were cracked and dry. Lucius saw a cup with ice shavings and dug a spoonful out, placing them in Alfred's mouth. "That's better, thank you. Is he dead?"

"Yes, he's dead. More?"

"Please." Lucius put another spoonful in Alfred's mouth. "Are you certain?"

"I put my hands around his neck and squeezed until his eyeballs bled; how much more certain do you want?" Lucius put the cup back with slightly more force than was necessary and sat back down, taking Alfred's hand again. No need to mention how he'd lied his way around Earle's death. No need to mention the look on Gordon's face as he clearly didn't believe Fox's explanation of 'a falling out among thieves.' No need to mention how that look changed when Gordon saw Alfred, broken, bleeding, near death, tenderly cradled in Bruce's arms. No need to mention Gordon's tacit approval of Earle's 'accidental' murder. No need to mention any of that, hopefully ever.

"Thank you for that. I didn't want Bruce..."

"I know." One corner of Lucius' mouth turned up. "He's killed before, Alfred."

"I know. But not..." Not in revenge, not for personal reasons, not at all, if he could help it.

"It's all right. I'm far more capable of deadly retribution than he is. And anyway, Earle knew, Alfred. His life was forfeit the moment I realized that."

Alfred turned his head sufficiently to see Lucius from his good eye. "Do you think he--"

"This time, I made sure I destroyed everything. I don't think he figured it out before seeing Bruce, but if he had, well, we'll deal with it later." Lucius carefully squeezed the hand he held, trying to keep his voice steady and light. "Right now we just need to get you whole again."

"I'll be fine. It'll take a while, but I'll be fine." He squeezed Lucius' hand back.

"I know. You're too cussed to die. And you know I'd kick your ass if you did."

Alfred tried to smile then winced. "More ice?"

"Anything you'd like, Alfred. Just so long as you don't ask me to cook."

"I'm hardly suicidal, Lucius."

Lucius put another spoonful of ice into Alfred's mouth, grateful beyond measure for the ability to do so.

* * *

Out in the hall, slumped against the wall next to Alfred's room, Bruce struggled with emotion. He could hear the voice he had been so afraid of losing and it nearly drove him to tears. Alfred was the last bit of _home_ for him, was the last link between his life before and his life after. He didn't want to face living without Alfred, not yet. 

After a few moments of deep breathing, he managed to get himself under control. He swallowed the lump in his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. Then he pushed himself away from the wall and went home. Alfred was in good hands and Fox was right, Bruce had other things to do -- such as figuring out who had warned him about Alfred's abduction and preparing for the time when Ducard would call him.

No need to mention that to Alfred yet, though. No need at all.

end

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Just another nasty story. If you have a squick about rape and/or torture, don't read or get someone else to read it first and let you know if you're going to like it. That's all I'm gonna say.


End file.
